


when we could say goodnight and stay together

by eggboyksoo



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Lowercase, M/M, johnny has anterograde amnesia, taeyong is his boyfriend who gets johnny to fall in love with him every single day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 14:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggboyksoo/pseuds/eggboyksoo
Summary: “your name is johnny seo.you were in an accident.you have anterograde amnesia.you don’t remember things after your accident…but you write in your journal.”





	when we could say goodnight and stay together

**Author's Note:**

> hi, hello there,, i didn't think i'd be back again posting fic again so soon. but i was writing down ideas for another story into a notebook i've had for years, and, while procrastinating, stumbled across this story, which i wrote with ocs four years ago. i'm preeetty sure it's inspired by 50 first dates lmao. the bones of the story were ok, but i felt like i could ~elevate it and make it johnyong, so i did???  
> anyways. this was kinda fun to write. i feel like this is the story i've always wanted to write in terms of prose and introspective moments so i'm proud of it even though i know i'm gonna hate it tomorrow and wished i edited it more.  
> in any case, happy new year!! and enjoy!!

it’s seven-thirty in the morning when johnny wakes up, somehow aware that more days have passed than he realised, and a strange urge to look up at his bedroom wall.

before he does that, though, he becomes aware of his surroundings, and the fact he’s _holding_ someone, even if he can’t remember falling asleep with anyone. his head’s not pounding, and even though he’s not a one-night stand kind of guy, surely, he wouldn’t have ended up cuddling that person, right? but all he can remembers is a quiet night in and chinese takeout, after a gruelling day of rewrites. no bars.

the guy he’s holding stirs, wriggling in his grasp. johnny freezes. the other person manages to roll over onto his side. he pushes back the red hair that’s fallen into his eyes and stares at him. he looks like he knows something that johnny doesn’t. his eyes look cautious, weary, but his smile is kind.

johnny has no idea who this person is. this tiny, handsome man with the red hair—johnny’s _sure_ he would’ve remembered him if he’d seen him. but even though he doesn’t know him, there’s a reason why he doesn’t feel compelled to jump out of bed screaming. and the man seems to know _him_.

“good morning,” the redhead says, finally. “my name is taeyong.”

“i’m johnny,” johnny says, slowly pulling his arms away from the stranger. it’s comfortable, holding him, but it feels weird to be holding someone he doesn’t know.

something flashes in taeyong’s eyes. it makes johnny think of all the times he’s tried to use the phrase ‘eyes laced with pain’ and how corny it sounds because it didn’t seem real, even if it was a vibe he was trying to convey. except now, he thinks he’s seen it.

“have you checked the sign on the wall?” taeyong asks. when johnny shakes his head, taeyong reaches up and touches johnny’s side. “turn over.”

* * *

 _“your name is johnny seo.  
_ _you were in an accident.  
_ _you have anterograde amnesia.  
_ _you don’t remember things after your accident…  
_ _but you write in your journal.”_

* * *

taeyong shows him where his journal is. it’s in his bedside drawer. johnny’s always journaled, but his journal has never had a home before; it’s always haphazardly left in the last place where inspiration struck.

lee taeyong, his journal says, is a songwriter who changes his hair regularly. there are photos of the different hair colours he’s sported in the last couple of months—green, red, blonde, silver, brown, black. he has a mullet in some photos and a shaved eyebrow in others. he likes to cook and loves melon ice bars.

the latest journal entry says, _“don’t be afraid when he’s there tomorrow morning. he is kind, and he loves you.”_

taeyong doesn’t speak as johnny flicks through his journal, moving between different entries, noting the places where his past self writes taeyong’s name. it appears 14 times on a double page spread alone. different facts about him have been carefully written down in each daily entry—as if the johnny of each morning is trying to grasp onto the idea of taeyong, of committing him to a non-existent memory.

the journal entries start off with him trying to understand who taeyong is. as the entries continue, it feels like his past selves all _understand_ , and are somehow, almost magically, all in love with this man they only know over a course of a day.

and then his memory resets. 

“so,” johnny says, finally, when he thinks he’s seen enough.

“so,” taeyong replies, voice light, holding the duvet and crumpling it in his grasp.

“you’re… you’re my boyfriend.” johnny means to ask, rather than state, but there’s really no question there. no one who didn’t care would go to all this effort. what kind of person makes someone fall in love with them every single day?

taeyong nods. “i am.”

“how long?”

“a while. over a year,” he says. taeyong’s quiet for a moment before he adds, “i wrote an entry for you, for our anniversary.”

“we have an anniversary?” it’s his reality, but johnny still isn’t sure how this is supposed to work. “how’d you—”

“it was the first time you hoped i was your boyfriend,” taeyong says, “and it was the first time i asked. and then you said yes. it’s a whole thing. it’s important.”

johnny stares at taeyong. he looks like he should be cooler, rougher around the edges than he is. but he’s flustered, and sweet, if his journal entries are anything to go by.

“show me the entry,” johnny says.

it’s from four months ago, not written in johnny’s careful but efficient handwriting, tailored to allow him to jot down all the ideas in his head as fast and as legibly as he can before he loses them forever. taeyong’s is a little wilder, a little less restrained. his handwriting convey emotion—he writes words _johnny_ and _love_ with letters that look soft, in cursive. he writes about things he’s upset and sad about in letters that look angry, harsh, pressed into the page.

“i still don’t know if you wanted me to write in your journal,” taeyong admits. “i think it changes by the day. but i figured you deserved to read how i feel, from me. and this was the only place i could think of having it, so…”

“it’s okay,” johnny says, because that’s how he feels. it makes sense.

taeyong’s entry is rambled, but there are verses written into the margins. for what he lacks in prose, he makes up in song; it feels like he’s getting a multi-faceted look at him. there are some carefully selected couple selfies in here, johnny in different stages of bewilderment and love. no matter how many times _i love you_ comes up in taeyong’s sprawling handwriting, they still take johnny by surprise.

when he’s done reading, he closes the journal and turns to face taeyong. although they’ve put some space between them now, he’s been sitting beside him, in his bed, the whole time. for someone who has no idea how his day is gonna play out, he seems to have a lot of faith in the fact johnny won’t kick him out. too much faith in johnny and his feelings, and the memory he’s continuously losing.

“i always hoped it was possible for people to fall in love in a day,” johnny confesses. “i’m a romantic like that. but i didn’t think it was possible for me.”

taeyong shrugs. “it’s been lots of days, and lots of hiccups. at the beginning, you used to freak out if i was around in the mornings. and now, i’m able to sleep here and stay overnight. the doctors think it’s because i’m beginning to be part of your long-term memory.”

“maybe so. but,” johnny says, with a little smile, “you’ve made me fall in love with you in a day multiple times. i mean—long-term memory lets you wake up in my bed, but it’s the whole feelings thing that gets you there in the first place, right?”

taeyong laughs—a genuine one, bright. johnny thinks he looks beautiful when he laughs. “my game _has_ gotten a lot better,” he admits.

* * *

johnny kisses him at 11:07 am, about two and a half hours after he first met taeyong.

he’s still a stranger—at least to him today. but he’s not unfamiliar at all.

* * *

“so, tell me about yourself, lee taeyong.”

taeyong hums as he flips a pancake. it’s going to be perfect, just like the other ones he’s made, waiting to be served. “what would you like to know?”

“i’m not sure yet. maybe something that’s not in the journal?”

taeyong laughs. “everything about me is in that journal.”

“fine then. tell me _anything_ about you.” 

taeyong raises an eyebrow at johnny before sighing. “alright,” he says. “let me try to think of something new to tell you.”

johnny grabs his journal and prepares to take more notes. he’s sure that whatever taeyong’s about to tell him, he’s got written down somewhere in here, or the journal before it—but he’s not sure what he knows, so he’s going to be thorough, just in case.

taeyong proceeds to tell him everything.

he talks about his family—his parents, his sister, his nieces and nephews, complete with photos. he talks about his job, and his co-workers, and the people who encourage him to write and the people who throw out his work and tell him to start over when he’s put his heart and soul into his work. he talks about his friends, none of whom johnny remembers, and he talks about meeting johnny for the first time in a café—johnny’s café, his favourite one where he goes to when he’s stuck on a plot point.

he talks about what he knows about johnny’s accident, as told to him by johnny’s parents, who used to hover a lot more when taeyong had first met them. he talks about the early stages of their relationship, how he found out johnny had amnesia, and the fact that the book johnny had thought he’d been in the middle of doing edits for had been published for two years, and the book that had been just a little sprout in his head was almost a completed novel.

“i don’t know how you do it,” taeyong says, “but you just. read over what you’ve got, and you keep going. you don’t even think about anything before. you just run with it.” he looks over at johnny, eyes fond. “it’s a pretty admirable trait.”

“it’s good to see my amnesia is good for something,” johnny jokes. “i don’t remember myself being the most impulsive person.”

“not impulsive,” taeyong says, “just brave.”

* * *

by two in the afternoon, johnny laughing on the couch as taeyong tells him a story about how he lost a plushie he’d bought for johnny, finally begins to _understand_.

there are still no memories of taeyong, and johnny knows that there never will be. there’ll never be recognition of taeyong past a single day and yet—his _body_ knows him. there’s a warmth that fills him, down to his bones, every time taeyong laughs. there’s a comfort being around him that johnny’s never experienced with anyone else so suddenly, and it makes _sense_ , considering taeyong’s been around for over a year, doing everything in his power to let johnny hold onto him, to _remember_.

his brain doesn’t remember taeyong. but his body does, and his body remembers and loves him the way his mind can’t.

* * *

they spend the day talking.

taeyong says it’s not always like this. some days, taeyong isn’t home to see him wake up, and he comes home late, as johnny is dozing off. he knows about him, knows he comes around, but doesn’t really _know_ him; other days, they’re busy doing their own things—running errands, or working. it’s hard to believe that his life trudges on, that it’s not stagnant and unchanging, but johnny’s just glad it’s not, at least for taeyong.

johnny writes in his journal until his hand cramps. no more facts—“trust me, they’re all in this journal!”—but reflections, observations. corny lines that make sense now he should use in his novels. taeyong never says anything, pulling out his own notebook at some point, inspiration having struck him.

it’s only about eight or nine when johnny’s eyes start feeling heavy, and he realises with a panic that _this is it_. this is the end of the day. there’s not going to be anything there when he wakes up.

“i’m tired,” johnny says, horrified.

taeyong pushes johnny’s bangs back. “then get some sleep. it’s been a big day.”

“but i’m going to _forget_ ,” johnny says. “this whole day…”

“do you wanna check out if you’ve written everything down in your journal?” taeyong asks, and that’s when johnny realises the greatest horror of all.

taeyong’s done this, so many times. and he knows that, he _knows_ , even if it’s only been a few hours. but there’s something different about knowing that and the way taeyong is still putting him first, even though his memories are garbage, when he loses everything every time johnny falls asleep.

“taeyong,” johnny says.

taeyong smiles at him, and sighs. “i know what you’re thinking,” he says. “but i’m going to be fine. we’ll both be here tomorrow, right?”

“taeyong—”

“we will be,” taeyong continues, voice firm, and if johnny didn’t already know taeyong loved him, he would’ve known by now. “and we’ll get through it together. it’s okay if you’re tired. we have another day tomorrow.”

“back to square one,” johnny says.

“a new adventure,” taeyong corrects, before kissing his cheek. “come on. bed.”

* * *

johnny finds a short journal entry, desperately trying to keep his eyes open while taeyong gets ready for bed in the bathroom.

_“he knows that you don’t remember him. he will be patient with you.  
and you love him too. of all the things about him, please try to remember that.” _

* * *

it’s a herculean effort, but johnny manages to keep his eyes open for another three hours. johnny kisses taeyong for the last time twelve hours after he first kissed him.

“good night, johnny,” taeyong says with a sleepy smile, settling into his arms. just like he had been that morning. “i love you.”

“good night, taeyong.” it feels like it should be harder, and it _is_ , but taeyong’s little grin makes it feel easy, like there’s something to look forward to, even if he won’t remember it. “i love you too.”

“see you tomorrow,” taeyong says. johnny doesn’t respond; sleep already taking him.

* * *

it’s seven-thirty in the morning when johnny wakes up, somehow aware that more days have passed than he realised, and a strange urge to look up at his bedroom wall.

 _“your name is johnny seo._  
_you were in an accident._  
_you have anterograde amnesia._  
_you don’t remember things after your accident…_  
_but you write in your journal.”_

amnesia? his head spins. journal? he wrote in it yesterday—was it yesterday? how long as it been?—but he doesn’t know where it is, where he put it down.

he hears sounds coming from his apartment—his kitchen, if he’d have to guess. he wonders if there’s an intruder—but then johnny sees the rumpled sheets on the side of the bed he never sleeps on. he’s had a guest, he thinks with surprise. someone comfortable enough to stick around for breakfast? crazy. unless—no. surely not, right? not if he’s got amnesia—

he heads to the kitchen.

a guy with faded red hair, is standing there, making eggs and toast, just the way he likes them, whistling an unfamiliar tune. he turns around at the sound of johnny making his way into the kitchen, his eyes widening as he takes him in. he’s the cutest guy johnny’s ever seen.

“good morning,” he says, a little overwhelmed.

“good morning, johnny,” the redhead says, with a little smile. his eyes look cautious, but hopeful; his smile is kind. warm. “have you read your journal yet?”

he shakes his head. “couldn’t find it.”

“it’s inside your bedside drawer.”

“ah.” johnny stares. cute redhead flushes and turns back to the eggs. “who are you?”

redhead looks back, his features softening as he smiles. he’s beautiful when he smiles, johnny thinks. almost devastatingly so. “my name is taeyong.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/eggboyksoo)   
>  [curiouscat](http://curiouscat.me/eggboyksoo)


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